Author's Note: Well, I'm not entirely too sure what else I could put into this fic after this lol (my way of saying my muse died XD ) So a part of me wants to say Familiar is done, but one never knows what may come up as I continue to play Dissidia... so, while the tag will say the story is complete, I may or may not continue the 'one-shot collection' motif. I kinda wanna write a different 8x9 fic, but I'm still debating. Thanks for all the readers and reviews, *luff* to you all ^_^
Squall knew his reunion with Zidane would eventually lead to the blond yelling at him, once they were alone together. He rehearsed the entire thing in his head each day he was apart from his lover, knowing what would be flung at him and how to react. Squall had no intention of apologizing—he was perfectly valid in his want to protect Zidane—and knew the words, and actions, to get himself forgiven without having to utter those stupid two words.
Once his group met back up with Bartz and Zidane—and crap, there's Laguna—Squall was prepared for Zidane jumping on his back. That was borderline PDA, but Squall indulged him when he realized just how worried he made the thief, even carrying him the short walk back to the main camp. Once there, Zidane was good and jumped down, but he gave Squall the 'we are so duking it out later!' glare, one that Squall often had to fight himself against smirking over.
Squall was also coming to truly appreciate the shared friendship he and Zidane had with Bartz. The mime obviously knew they needed to speak privately and, with just a smile and thumbs up to them both, managed to make enough of a clamoring charade to get everyone's attention so that the couple could slip away for a few moments. Squall resolved himself to find some way to thank Bartz for all his support.
Once alone, Squall prepared himself for the outburst. However, the first thing out of Zidane's mouth actually temporarily stunned the mercenary stupid.
"Why the hell didn't you say Laguna was your dad?"
Squall stared for several seconds, his brain trying to register what he heard. When it finally clicked, he frowned a bit. Damn man opened his big mouth. "It's not important."
Zidane's look contradicted that statement. "Not important? Squall, this is your father!"
Big damn deal. "And?"
Whatever sort of world Zidane came from, Squall was starting to figure out it was along the lines of real, old-school medieval bullshit. "We have to tell him," Zidane said, then started to pace nervously, tail twitching. "I gotta properly meet your father, but, how the hell can I introduce myself? I can't come off weak and let you do it, I'm still a guy, but…" the rest was lost to mumbling, and to the fact Squall facepalmed himself hard enough to jar his senses for a few seconds.
"No," that made Zidane pause, and Squall stressed the word again, "No, we do not have to tell him."
"Yes, we do!" Zidane protested. "Fathers should always meet their children's… significant other! And they…"
Squall cut him off again. "Zidane, I didn't know Laguna was my dad until we ended up here. Eighteen years without him, I can go another fifty just fine. He doesn't need to know—plus, where I come from, men sleeping together aren't normal."
Zidane frowned. Squall had once explained his homeworld's views on men seeking solace in other men, how it was commonly perceived. Although from what Zidane recalled of his, there was no stigma attached other than being unable to offer a child, so naturally the royals couldn't indulge in it. As far as he knew, though, Squall wasn't of royal lineage, and neither was Zidane himself, so…
"Still…" Zidane frowned, and Squall could tell he was quite bothered by all of this. "It just… doesn't feel right, not telling your dad. Even if he only revealed himself to you now… at least you know you have a father now. The one who brought you into the world."
"And left me alone in it," Squall spat, but he knew well Zidane's concern with the matter. "Fine, if it means that much to you, we'll pull him aside—far away from camp—and tell him. Just know I don't give a damn about what he thinks, and even if he screams we shouldn't, I'm not going to listen to him and you damn well better not either."
Zidane finally smiled, and Squall couldn't believe what he just agreed to. Maybe he should have just said he was sorry for being an overprotective, hard-headed jerk.
Laguna would admit in a heartbeat he was pretty worried when his son, the guy with a tail and the weird mime all three approached him and wanted to speak to him away from the main party. Not that he was worried for his life, mind you—yes, he and Squall were still on shaky ground and all, but they were kind of friends! It was progress—but it was still worrisome.
When they deemed it far enough away, Bartz stood behind Squall and Zidane, a hand on each of their shoulders. Squall looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here, and Zidane had a… was that a blush?
"So…" Laguna started slowly. "What's up?"
Zidane had thought very critically on how to do this over the few days after Squall finally agreeing to it, but now that he was doing it, he felt incredible nervousness. While his upbringing didn't include condemning same-gender couples, Squall's apparently did… what if, even if Squall didn't remember, it came from Laguna? The thought hadn't occurred until they were half-way here, far too late to back out.
"Laguna…" Zidane said, carefully. He would defer to Laguna's last name, respectfully, if it were normal circumstance. But he was a male, with another male, and he had to assert his… well, manliness. "I wasn't aware of your… relation to Squall, that you were his father…"
"Ah, yeah," Laguna winced when Squall glared at him. "I… actually wasn't supposed to say that. If that's what this about, I'm totally sorry, man. I just wanted to reassure them you were okay and… that's the first thing that came to mind, it wasn't like I was trying to… you know, slander you or… well, hey, I was being honest and all and—"
Squall tilted his head in annoyance, huffing. "Zidane is my boyfriend."
"—I honestly believed that… er, what?" Laguna blinked.
There was a very long, silent pause. Eventually, Bartz coughed, wanting to dispel the awkwardness and get on with his life. The sound made Laguna blink again.
"Come again?" the gunner asked.
Zidane was still too mortified at how nonchalant Squall said it the first time, so the mercenary had to say it again himself, "Zidane's my boyfriend. I'm dating him. I'm sleeping with him—" Zidane covered his face in shame; why did Squall have no tact? "—and he wanted you to know, since you're my 'father' and all that."
Laguna went silent again, then slowly rubbed the back of his head. "Well," he said thoughtfully. "I did tell you to expand your horizontals."
"Horizons."
"Whatever. But, aw, you wanted to tell me?" at this, Laguna smiled, and Zidane peeked from between his fingers to see what was going on. "You actually… wanted my approval?"
"Hell no," Squall huffed. "Zidane comes from an old-fashioned world—he insisted we tell you."
Laguna felt a little upset—he wanted to have some sort of father-son connection with Squall, after all—but he knew it would be a long time coming, if ever, given this was a battlefield. "Well," the hand he used to rub the back of his head now shaded his eyes for no reason. "That's good, because I don't have the right to approve or disapprove what you do. One, you're an adult, and two, I only recently started trying to be your dad, and this sort of thing requires years of family-time."
Squall actually felt a little surprised. "You're not…?"
"Why would I be? I'm just glad you trust someone!" Laguna smiled wider. "Plus, love is love; I can't hold that against you!" he looked at Zidane, and suddenly the smile disappeared, making the thief tense. "Although you're eighteen, Squall… you sure Zidane's legal?"
"… legal?" Zidane dropped his hands from his face, looking up at Squall, who was facepalming himself.
Laguna was suddenly kneeling in front of Zidane, making him yelp and jump back a bit. Guy was fast! "How old are you, Zidane?" Laguna asked, rather seriously.
"Six…teen…"
"Sixteen?" Laguna stood up and grabbed a fistful of his shirt over his heart as if he were punched. "Squall, Squall, he's sixteen! He's underage!"
Squall's snappy 'I'm aware of that!' overlapped Zidane's indignant 'I am of age!' in such a way, Bartz couldn't help but nearly fall over laughing.
The mime had come to play emotional support, but as Laguna continue to lament Squall's 'sinful urges' and the two protesting it, he found himself simply here to enjoy the spectacle.
Life was fun.
